The Price of Aggression
by Malarkay
Summary: *Permanent Hiatus* Things are rarely as black and white as we would like them to be. They called him a traitor; but one man's traitor is another's patriot. Prequel to From the Ashes: It is highly recommended that you read FtA, first.
1. Gains and Losses

Disclaimer: Storm Hawks belongs to Asaph Fipke and Nerd Corps Entertainment. I am not them.

Author's Note: I apologize for my long, long, long hiatus away from the Storm Hawks fandom. I wanted to write this story much earlier, but real life and writer's block conspired against me. But I won't let them get the better of me, any longer! So here it is, at long last, the first chapter of my From the Ashes prequel. So for those of you who have read FtA, I hope you enjoy. For those of you who haven't read it, yet, I recommend you go do that, now. While it's not necessary, I think you'll enjoy it more if you do.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

No place on Atmos could rival the beauty of Terra Hazen on a spring day; the sun casting its golden glow over the land, its warmth tempered by the cool breeze. The air perfumed with blossoming trees and freshly tilled earth. There was nothing like it.

According to Kestrel.

Typhon preferred the raging storms and obsidian spires of Cyclonia, the way the red sky glowed as lightning tore across it. He wasn't much of a poet, but he had tried to compare her eyes to that sky, once, thinking she'd find it romantic. Instead, she had laughed and looked away, embarrassed.

She was always so self-conscious about her eyes. He could never understand it.

He stood behind her, now, one of his hands covering those eyes, his other gently resting on her shoulder as he guided her to the middle of the governor's private garden. He took his hand away, grinning as he anticipated her reaction.

She gasped, turning in a complete circle as she took in the view. It was a huge garden, encased within an elaborate, environmentally controlled dome. The entire structure was powered with cloaking crystals, making it impossible to view from the outside. It was an amazing feat of engineering that allowed generations of governors to horde the wondrous garden for themselves and their families, denying entrance to all others save the Master Cyclonis.

Its secrecy stirred public imagination, earning the garden almost mythical status throughout the Atmos. Over the years, hordes of conspiracy theorists had posited that it wasn't really a garden, at all, but a secret military base. Others swore that it was the control center for a defense system that put Bogaton's to shame. That theory gained quite a bit of popularity, spawning a new generation of theorists who were convinced that Hazen was the true center of the Cyclonian Empire. The palace at Cyclonia, they claimed, had been abandoned by the Imperial family years ago, and now served only as a ruse to draw potential attacks to a Cyclonis look alike, while the real thing was half a quadrant away, safe and sound.

The truth would disappoint a great many people. Though for the privileged few who had been allowed inside the dome, the garden was anything but disappointing. It was, without a doubt, the most elaborate garden and atrium in the Atmos, with flora and feathered fauna imported from every corner of the world to create a self contained paradise that was beyond compare.

Kestrel looked as if she couldn't quite believe where she was. "Is this…?"

"Yes," he answered before she could finish the question.

"How hard did you have to twist Cassius' arm to agree to this?" she teased him.

He laughed, "Cassius? It was Augusta Rae I had to beg."

It was her turn to laugh, "I can't see you begging."

"No? How do you think I got us in here, then?"

"I've heard that you're very well connected," she answered with a coy smile.

"I do have one or two high ranking officials in my back pocket."

"Do they answer to the names 'Dad' and 'Mom'?"

He scoffed. "My parents wouldn't be caught dead answering to those names. And no, I didn't ask them. I do have enough clout to be welcome here, without my father having to strong-arm Cassius."

She grinned, "I know you do. I'm just surprised the invitation extends to me, too."

He shrugged, "When I'm Cyclonis, you'll be my consort, so I don't see why you're so surprised."

He waited. It took a moment for her to register what he had just said. When she did, she smiled in anticipation.

Taking a deep breath, he dropped to one knee and pulled out a ring, willing his hands not to shake as he presented it to her. He'd faced his share of enemies in battle, but not once had he felt so nervous. "Marry me," he said, a little too forcefully, as he tried to keep his voice from quavering. He had prepared an entire speech for this moment, had practiced it dozens of times. But now, when the time had come to deliver it, he couldn't remember a word he had written.

Luckily, she didn't seem to mind.

"Yes," she said; her smile the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. "I will marry you."

"Good," he grinned, standing and slipping the ring onto her finger, "because if you had said no…"

"If you're going to make a bad joke about how you would have had to kill me, I'm taking back my answer," she cut him off with a smirk.

"No, I was going to say that I'd be heartbroken for life," he frowned, feigning being offended. She rolled her eyes.

"You are a terrible liar."

"Who's lying?"

"You are, and you're terrible at it."

"You make that sound like such a bad thing."

"For you, it is."

"Do you have to sound like my father so soon after I proposed? Now I'm having second thoughts."

They stared at each other for a long moment, before bursting into laughter together. He pulled her to him, smiling as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "I have a picnic set up right beyond those trees," he said, nodding towards a copse of dogwood off to the side. "That has all your favorite foods," he paused, kissing her, "and your favorite wine."

She shook her head, "I don't have a favorite wine. You know that."

"Well you do, now," he grinned, sweeping her into his arms. "Trust me. I made sure that everything here is the best of the best. You're going to love it." He leaned in for another kiss, ignoring the sound of a throat being cleared behind him.

The noise came again, more insistently this time, as he deepened the kiss, "M'lord?"

He broke the kiss only long enough to growl, "Busy now."

"M'lord, I wouldn't interrupt if it wasn't urgent," Cassius apologized.

Kestrel pulled away from him. "He's not going to go away, Typhon," she pointed out reasonably.

With a frustrated sigh, he set her down and turned to face Cassius. "What?" he snapped.

"Master Cyclonis requires your presence."

He shrugged. "Well he can wait," he said, waving the older man away.

"I'm afraid he can't."

"Why not?"

"It's not my place to say."

Typhon gripped the hilt of his sword. "What is so important that he has to interrupt me in the middle of my getting engaged," he asked through clenched teeth, staring into the other man's eyes.

"Lady Phoebe," Cassius began, before sighing and dropping the formality. He stepped forward, resting his hand on his shoulder. "Your mother passed away, Typhon. I'm sorry. Your father wanted to be the one to tell you."

Typhon took a step back, letting Cassius' hand fall back to his side. He hadn't been prepared for that news. He knew his mother was sick, but it was a recent illness, and the physician had been optimistic. "No, you had to have misheard him," he said.

Cassius shrugged helplessly, shaking his head.

Typhon looked at Kestrel. She had her hand over her mouth, her eyes filled with sympathy. For him. She reached out for him, but he started walking back towards the manor. He didn't need to be comforted. Not over a misunderstanding. Cassius hurried to catch up to him, matching his stride.

"Contact my father and tell him I'm on my way home."


	2. Death Be Not Proud

"Where is he?" Typhon demanded as he disembarked.

"The throne room, m'Lord," directed the Talon who met him at the foot of the ramp. "He's been expecting you."

Typhon barely spared the man a glance as he pushed by him. He marched through the winding halls of the citadel, blind to the Talons who stopped to salute, and flung open the throne room doors.

There his father sat, ramrod straight, looking no less commanding for having just lost his wife. With him were Jacamar and Boreal, the governors of Terras Basin and Bluster. The three of them were deep in conversation, but they cut off abruptly as he entered.

"Out," he commanded without preamble, stepping aside and holding the door open for them. He liked both men, considered them friends. Under different circumstances, he wouldn't be so rude. But he needed to speak to his father alone.

The two men exchanged looks, before their gazes swiveled as one to his father. He exhaled sharply, and the ghost of a frown crossed his father's face at his impatience. If he didn't know the man so well, he would have missed it. For a moment, his father remained still and silent, a reminder to him of who was in charge. His grip tightened on the door as the silence stretched. Finally, his father nodded, dismissing them with the barest wave of his hand. They bowed, fist to heart, and turned to go.

Boreal thumped him awkwardly on the back as he passed. Jacamar paused, squeezing his shoulder sympathetically. "I'm sorry this happened," he offered, "and on today of all days. Is Kestrel with you?"

He shook his head, "I left her on Hazen."

"Have her brought here. You shouldn't go through this alone, if you can avoid it," Jacamar said simply.

He nodded, watching the man leave. Once they were alone, he turned back towards the throne, "So it's true?"

"I am not in the habit of lying about such things."

"Then why are you here?"

"Where else would I be?"

"I'd think you'd be mourning her, instead of conducting business as usual," he shot back, unable to keep the accusation from creeping into his voice.

"The world does not conveniently grind to a halt when tragedy strikes."

Typhon stood in shocked silence at his father's coldness. The shock quickly gave way to rage, and before he knew what he was doing, he struck out. His father raised a hand, his expression bored, and his fist stopped in midair, several inches short of its target. A quick flicking motion sent him stumbling back.

Gathering his strength, he raised his hands. Energy swirled furiously around them as he thrust his fists forward, sending all that power barreling towards the other man. But he was too slow. His father deflected the burst, sending it back towards him. It hit him square in the chest, knocking him off his feet.

"Enough. This display of yours is unbecoming," his father said.

He stood angrily, and with a sigh, his father stood, as well. "You came to see your mother, and so you shall." Without waiting to see if he was even following, his father walked to the door. Quickly, he followed.

They walked in awkward silence through the halls, pushing open the doors of the infirmary and stepping inside. Finch looked up from his work and, seeing them, stood and bowed.

"Master Cyclonis, Typhon, my deepest sympathies for your loss."

"Where is she?"

Finch led them to a chilly back room, walking over to the lone table present, and drawing back the sheet, uncovering his mother's face. "I'll leave you alone," Finch offered, waiting until they nodded before leaving.

"I don't understand how this could happen," he said finally. "Finch said she'd recover."

"There were unforeseen complications."

"Then he wasn't doing his job! He's supposed to be the best! If he can't live up to that reputation, anymore, then you should get rid of him before something like this happens again."

"He is the best. But death comes for us all, eventually."

"You know that's not true! You could have saved her, if you wanted to."

His father's gaze was like blue fire as it bored into his own, "She did not want that, and I would have refused to do that to her, even if she did."

"Then you didn't love her enough," he said coldly.

"No, Typhon. It is because I love her."

"Awfully convenient, you choosing now to develop morals," he sneered, turning to go before his father could say any more. He slammed out of the infirmary and stormed down the hall. He was halfway back to his rooms before he stopped, punched the wall, and turned back. He wasn't going to let an argument with his father ruin his chance to say goodbye to his mother in private. He stalked back to the infirmary.

He stopped short at the door of the cold room, surprised by what he saw. He thought his father would have left, already, but he was wrong. The older man was on his knees, both hands clasping one of his mother's, his shoulders shaking. He stood momentarily transfixed, before quietly backing out, leaving his father his privacy.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Tanager walked behind Phoebe's casket, Typhon by his side, as it was borne along the quiet, crowd lined procession route. The only sound was the slow tattoo of the drums marking time for the Bearer Party. He glanced over at Typhon. The boy had been uncharacteristically quiet since the incident in the infirmary. Typhon hadn't apologized for his outburst, but he had been civil and cooperative during the funeral preparations, and Tanager valued that far more than empty words.

He turned his attention back to the front. They were drawing nearer to their destination, Thorn Hall. The massive edifice, with its sprawling grounds, sat at the heart of the terra which gave it its name. Terra Thorn had been the ceremonial center of the Cyclonian Empire for generations, its environment being far more suitable than Cyclonia for state events.

The procession wound its way up to the ornate doors of the Hall. Eight Talons in full regalia lifted the casket from the carriage and carried it inside, down the aisle, and respectfully lowered it onto the silk draped catafalque. As the casket bearers melted back into the ranks, four Talons who had been waiting within the Hall stepped forward, stationing themselves at each corner of the catafalque and bowing their heads, reverent, but still very clearly on guard.

Tanager stepped up to the casket and lifted the lid, staring down at his wife. Even in death, she retained her ethereal beauty. Her skin was pale, but it had always been so. Her hair had never lost its golden luster. His own was more grey than black, these days. And while he could no longer hide the signs of his advancing age, she had always had a flawless, ageless quality about her. He bowed his head. _'It should have been me,' _he thought.

He had loved her with all of his heart. He knew there were many throughout Atmos who doubted he had a heart. His own son seemed to be counted among those. But they were wrong. He did have a heart. She was it. He had worked as tirelessly to ensure that their relationship was a successful one as he had to build his Empire, determined to avoid the loveless, strained sham that his own parents had called a marriage.

But now she had been taken from him. _'What else will I lose, before the end?' _he wondered. Before he could contemplate further, he sneered at himself, disgusted at his maudlin reverie. Lifting his head, he squared his shoulders and took his place beside the casket. After his own moment of silence, Typhon joined him. He nodded, indicating that it was time for the governors and their families to pay their respects.

They filed past slowly, first stopping at the casket, before moving on to give their condolences to the Imperial family. The solemnity was broken only once, by a young voice exclaiming with childish glee, "Is she really dead?" Boreal, who had a warning hand on each of his children's shoulders at the casket, must have given the boy's a squeeze, for the child winced and promptly shut his mouth.

"I apologize for Snipe," Sora said, mortified, "he's…."

"Four," Typhon interjected understandingly, before Tanager could say anything, giving the boy a small smile. Sora smiled gratefully. Boreal said a few words, and they moved on.

Tanager shook his head slightly, turning his attention to the next group.

"Our condolences for your loss, Master," Jacamar said with a bow, speaking for himself and his two children. Kestrel paid her respects, as well, before turning her attention to Typhon. Typhon pulled her away a few steps, and they began to converse in low voices. The younger Jacamar stepped forward to take his sister's place, giving an awkward bow. He was a gangly boy, just barely into his teen years. Although the boy was named after his father, he and Kestrel greatly favored their late mother, Elaenia.

Tanager glanced at his son and future daughter-in-law, and decided to give them a few extra moments. He looked back at the boy, "Your father tells me you're almost ready to join the Talon Academy."

"Yes, Master."

Tanager mulled over what to say next. How he hated small talk.

"The Sergeant usually doesn't take in recruits so young."

"I know, Master. But I've been training hard, and Father thinks I can do it. He will vouch for me, when I go to enlist."

Tanager glanced once more at Typhon, who seemed to be finishing up. "I wish you luck in that endeavor," he told him, as Kestrel rejoined her family and they continued on their way.

Tanager looked at the remainder of the line. There weren't many dignitaries left to attend to. Soon, the Hall would be open to the public, and would remain so for three days while Phoebe lie-in-repose. At sunset on the third day, she would be laid to rest. Tanager and Typhon would remain on Terra Thorn until that time, as would anyone else who intended to attend the burial.

It didn't take much longer for the remaining governors to pass through the line. After the last of them was past, he turned to Typhon. "I am retiring for the night. I'm not to be disturbed unless it is an emergency." He waiting long enough for Typhon to nod, before turning and leaving for his room.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Kestrel decided to take a walk after paying her respects. This was the first funeral she had attended since her mother's, and it was affecting her more than she had expected. She left her father and brother sitting in the Hall and went out front, finding a small path that winded its way through the thickets of wild, thorny roses which had inspired the terra's name. The exercise and the cool, clean air cleared her head, and before long, she felt she was able to go back and be supportive.

By the time she returned, she found her father still sitting contemplatively in the front row, but her brother was nowhere in sight. She looked up towards the catafalque. Cyclonis and Typhon had disappeared, as well.

She looked around the crowded Hall and noticed a side door. She went over to it and, finding it unlocked, let herself out into the hallway. She wandered through the deserted halls before discovering a door leading out into the cemetery behind the Hall.

It was there that she found both Typhon and her brother perched upon weathered stone grave markers, each holding a bottle of ale. Her brother twisted off the cap and moved to take a swig. She walked over and grabbed it from his hands before he could drink any, taking a seat next to Typhon and hitting him on the shoulder, "You're a bad influence!"

He rubbed his shoulder, "It wouldn't have hurt him. Right, Jace?"

Jace began to nod, until she mock glared at him, and then he shook his head and pointed at Typhon. "He made me. I told him I was too young, but he wouldn't listen," he deadpanned.

She laughed as Typhon threw his bottle cap at Jace. Her brother ducked, and it sailed harmlessly over his head. "We were toasting, to mothers."

She grew quiet. Finally, she said, "That sounds like a good idea." Raising her bottle, she looked at Typhon and said, "To Lady Phoebe. I had nothing but the greatest respect for her, and I wish I had gotten the chance to know her as a mother."

Typhon smiled, and raised his own bottle, "To Elaenia. I wish I had gotten the chance to really meet her. Judging from the two of you, she must have been a remarkable woman." He bent down and picked up a third bottle. He must have been expecting her to come find them. "What do you say, Kestrel? It's bad luck to not drink at a toast. Just one supervised sip?"

"One sip," she agreed, and the boys grinned. Typhon tossed the bottle over to Jace. He caught it easily and twisted it open, raising it in tribute.

The three of them clinked bottles and drank to happier times.


	3. New Beginnings

Within these four walls, time was meaningless.

She remembered when she'd first set foot inside the lab, wide-eyed, with Typhon at her side. Widgeon standing stern and protective, so obviously unwilling to let her even gaze upon the rows of crystals lining the walls of his domain, let alone handle them.

She had worked hard to gain his trust, since then. A small part of her believed she might have even gained his respect, though of course he'd never admit it. The strange power Master Cyclonis controlled was such an engrained part of him that he needn't bother with the mundane aspects of crystal mastery. It was a discipline that Phoebe had never shown any interest in, and that Typhon had shown little aptitude for. Not that Typhon required it, since he shared his father's gift for sorcery; even if, by his own admission, he fell short of being Cyclonis' equal. And so Kestrel couldn't help but feel that Widgeon appreciated having a peer within the citadel, someone who shared his passion for the art of crystal manipulation.

It had been a couple of years since she had stepped through those doors for the first time, and she had long since earned free run of the place when Widgeon was off duty. Usually she spent a free hour here and there tinkering around with some project Widgeon had left unfinished. Today, though, she was working on a project of her own. She had managed to acquire a pair of striker crystals, and was determined to see them refined. She had a good feeling about them. They were a brilliant blue, in striking contrast to the red crystals that were considered superior by the Empire's forces. Somewhere deep inside, though, she knew they were perfect for what she had planned.

And so she had been holed up in the lab for who knows how long, lost in her work. It was almost intoxicating, the comfortable familiarity of the cutter in her hand, the glow of the crystals, the low humming buzz that filled her ears and the acrid tang that wafted through the air as the laser expertly shaved layer after layer of crystal, slowly revealing their final form.

At last they were finished.

She powered down the crystal cutter, pushed her goggles up to her forehead, and turned, stopping short when she found Typhon leaning against the doorframe.

"How long have you been there?"

"A while," he admitted.

"Why didn't you say anything?" she asked, miffed at herself for not realizing he was there.

"And risk your wrath if speaking up had made you slip and slice one of those crystals in half?" he grinned. "No thanks."

"And here I thought you liked living dangerously," she teased, turning back to the workstation and beginning to clean up.

"Not that dangerously," Typhon shot back as he moved to help her, wiping down the countertop as she returned the gem cutter and goggles to their rightful places. "These are more powerful than they look," he said, picking up one of the crystals and holding it up to the light.

"I was hoping that was the case," she smiled.

"Well thank you, I'll put them to good use," he said, pocketing the crystal and reaching for the other.

She was momentarily at a loss for words, until she noticed the mischievous glint in his eyes as he grabbed the second crystal. Smirking, she reached into his pocket and retrieved the first one, "Afraid you won't. They aren't for you."

"But…" he protested as she plucked the other crystal from his hands. "Who else would they be for?"

"They're for Jace. Father intends to give him the blades that belonged to our grandfather, when he enrolls in the Academy. But their crystals are drained and need to be replaced."

"I know," Typhon shrugged, trying and failing to hide his smile. "Jacamar told me."

"You're impossible," she told him, finding a way to 'accidentally' elbow him in the ribs as she wrapped up the crystals for safekeeping. He chuckled, dutifully rubbing his side to make her feel as if she'd actually done some damage. "So is there a reason you came looking for me?"

"We've been engaged for months, now, and we haven't once sat down and discussed the wedding."

"It's not the right time for that," she pointed out.

"I know. But the period of mourning is up at the end of the week. And so, would you do me the honor of joining me for dinner in three nights, to talk about the wedding? At the least, we can finally set a date."

She smiled at him, nodding, "I'd like that."

* * *

"I've got news," Jacamar said, in a tone that made Jace's heart sink. His eyes were drawn to the piece of paper his father held. "I've received your test results. It's been determined that you aren't a good match for the Talon Academy."

Jace was struck dumb by the proclamation. His ears burned as he tried to speak, but no words would come. His father shook his head sadly, and turned to go. Leaping to his feet, he rushed after him.

"Wait! I don't understand! I couldn't have failed!" he said in a panicked rush.

His father kept walking, neither slowing his pace nor acting as though Jace had even spoken.

"I couldn't have failed!"

He followed his father into the kitchen. "There has to be some mistake," he protested, until he saw Kestrel sitting at the table. He hesitated, not wanting to embarrass himself even further. "Kestrel…I didn't know you were home."

"It's just for a couple of days. What mistake?" she asked.

"He didn't get accepted into the Talon Academy," Jacamar said. Kestrel looked at him in shock, and he felt his face flush anew.

"After all that trouble we went through to get him his gift, and he's not going?"

"Gift?" he asked weakly, feeling even more miserable.

She slid a box across the table towards him, "Well, these were going to be for you, but I guess you won't need them anymore."

He opened the box. Inside rested twin energy blades. He had seen them before, in pictures of his grandfather. They had been shined up, and were equipped with new, blue crystals.

He hung his head. "I couldn't have failed," he repeated, sounding like a broken record.

"Who said anything about failing?" his father asked.

He looked up, confused. His father was straight-faced, but a quick glance at Kestrel showed that she was having a harder time remaining composed.

"What?" he asked hopefully.

"You aren't going to the Talon Academy. You, my boy, are going to the Imperial Martial Academy at Kalamos."

Jace knew he must have heard incorrectly, "The Imperial Academy Kalamos? But that's for officer training."

"Yes, yes it is. Apparently you have great potential that would be wasted as a mere Talon."

He was once again shocked into silence.

"Better pack your things. You ship out for Kalamos the day after tomorrow."

* * *

The rest of the day and much of the following went by in a blur for Jace. After dinner on the night before he was to ship out, he went out for a walk. He hoped the cool air would help him clear his head so he could get some sleep.

His wandering led him to the hill he and Kestrel liked to visit when they were younger. It was the perfect place to sit and watch the sky, or stare down into the valley. At night, the lights that would shine from the houses below would mirror the stars in the sky above. The two of them, caught in the middle, would pretend they were floating in space. The peacefulness of the place had gotten them through a lot of days after their mother had died, and their father was off fighting for Cyclonia.

He was unsurprised to find her sitting there, waiting for him. He went to sit beside her, and she wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "You're going to do great. I wouldn't be surprised if you graduated top of your class," she said, addressing his fears before he could even voice them.

"I'm going to be the youngest one there."

"So? You were going to be the youngest at the Talon Academy."

"That's different."

"Nah, it's not. If you didn't belong there, Dad wouldn't be letting you go. You've never backed down from a challenge before, Jace."

"I know, it's just…" he trailed off, not knowing exactly what he was so worried about.

"I'm proud of you," she said, and he couldn't help but smile. "And Dad's proud of you. No matter what. Just remember that, and you'll do fine."

They sat in silent for a while, watching the stars come out. Finally, he spoke again. "I'm not going to miss your wedding, am I?"

She shook her head, "You get a week long leave between each term. We've set the date for the first of those. It's just a short thirteen weeks away."

"Thanks, Kestrel."

"For what?"

He shrugged, "Everything."


	4. Bound

"I want to thank you for coming. I know how you feel about leaving Mire."

"And I know how you feel about the word 'no'," came the sardonic reply.

"That has never stopped you, before. It's one of the things I respect about you."

He noticed her smile take on a smug edge, and raised a warning finger, "To an extent. This time your presence here was a request, not a command. We both know that I would not have pressed the issue had you declined the invitation."

"I wouldn't dream of missing dear Typhon's nuptials. And it's been too long since Mire has seen visitors."

"I can see that."

Her cold gaze pierced into his. He merely stared back, unrelenting, until she continued, "I welcome the break from the solitude."

"I am glad I could provide, then. There is one more thing I can offer you, for your trouble." He snapped his fingers, and the guard at the door nodded, ducked out into the hallway, and returned with three prisoners in tow. All three were women: young, still strong and healthy looking despite their incarceration, and quite beautiful.

As soon as she saw them, the chill in the air that his previous comment had created melted, the insult seemingly forgiven and forgotten. "Oh, Tanager," she demurred, "you shouldn't have."

He smirked. She liked to play at being playful, but he never allowed himself to be fooled by the act; he never forgot how dangerous she could be. He didn't fear her. He was far too powerful for that. But he did respect the fact that she was easier to deal with as an ally, rather than as an enemy.

"I hope the selection meets with your approval."

She took one of the prisoners by the chin, turning the girl's head this way and that, studying her face from all angles. "Yes," she drawled, the word almost a hiss, and her captive shivered. "It's a shame I can only have one."

He watched as she examined the other two in turn. Finally she turned to him. "What do you think? I do want to look my best for the festivities."

He gave the three women one last, cursory glance, before pointing to the one in the middle, "That one."

She looked where he pointed and smiled, "You always did have a weakness for blondes. I'll take her."

"Excellent," he said, nodding to the guard, who escorted the other two out of the room. Turning back to her, he said, "The wedding is at noon tomorrow. Until then, enjoy."

…

Kestrel felt eyes upon her.

She ignored them for a few moments as she tried to focus on the wedding checklist, but soon her curiosity got the better of her and she looked up. Despite her knowledge that she was no longer alone in the room, she hadn't anticipated her watcher to be so near. Her startled surprise drew a chuckle from the other woman.

Kestrel didn't recall ever seeing the woman before. She was tall, her bearing almost regal, and she obviously had no concept of personal boundaries. Any closer and the strange woman would be sitting on her lap! Scooting her chair back to put a more comfortable distance between them, Kestrel took a closer look. She calculated that she was only the woman's junior by a year or two, but the sharp grey eyes that stared back at her appeared much older.

"So you're the one."

"The one?"

"The one Typhon has decided to marry."

Kestrel nodded, unable to subdue a smile despite the prickly sense of wrongness she felt from the other woman's presence.

The other woman smiled, too. "You love him, do you?"

"Yes," Kestrel agreed, her smile growing.

"More than anything?"

Kestrel felt her smile waver. Not from the question, but from the mocking light that flickered within the woman's eyes, almost too quick to notice. "Yes," she answered gamely, only to have her smile swept away completely by the derisive snort her reply earned.

"Please tell me you aren't marrying him for love."

"Why else would I marry him?"

"Child, if you are so thick that you can't come up with any other reason to marry the boy, I fear for the future of Cyclonia. Typhon has his good qualities, but intelligence doesn't rank amongst them. If he's found an equally dull bride, well, it doesn't speak well for your offspring, does it?"

Kestrel rose to her feet. The woman had just insulted her, her betrothed, and their future children in one breath! She had never been prone to fits of temper, but she wanted nothing more than to knock the pompous woman off the desk, drag her by the scruff of her neck to the hangar bay, and have her on the next ship out to the middle of nowhere.

The woman grinned, "Fire in your eyes. There's hope for you, yet. Sit and relax, girl, I know full well that you're far from stupid."

Kestrel reined in her anger, but she didn't sit, "I assume, when you speak of other reasons to marry Typhon, you mean wealth and power?"

"Yes, that is what I mean. You have considered the ramifications of what you are doing, tomorrow, yes? It is only a matter of time before Typhon becomes the Master Cyclonis. Should something happen to him, either before you produce an heir, or before said heir is of an age to take on the mantle of Cyclonis, you would become the Master. Are you prepared for that?"

Kestrel was well aware, on an intellectual level, that should such a scenario occur, she would inherit the throne. On an emotional level, however, she just couldn't envision anything happening to Typhon. But she wouldn't give this woman the satisfaction of seeing her in doubt. Squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin, she said, "I am."

"You are a liar."

"You know nothing about me!"

"Kestrel, age eighteen, the daughter of Jacamar and Elaenia: Your mother died when you were twelve, leaving you with all of her responsibilities, including the primary care of your younger brother, and much of the day to day running of Terra Basin whenever your father was away. You have been privately tutored by your father in matters of politics and warfare, though with no formal training in either, and possess an intelligence quotient several dozen digits above Typhon's. You are self-trained in crystal lore, on the verge of becoming a master in the field, but lack the bloodline to become a true crystal mage. A pity, that."

"But you don't believe I could be a good Master Cyclonis?"

"No, I believe you'd make a good Master."

"Then what's the problem?"

"Cyclonia needs a great Master. And great is something you will never be."

"Why is that?"

"Because being the Master is not about knowledge and ability, not entirely. It's about passion. It's about looking at the world, and not being able to fight the burning desire to dominate it. That is something you are either born with, or you are not. It can be nurtured, true, but it can't be taught. Tanager has that fire in spades. So does Typhon. It doesn't burn as brightly as his father's, but it's there lurking within him. Do you want to know what I see when I look into your eyes?"

"No."

The woman smirked, "Yes you do, I can tell. And that's the point. I see curiosity. I see intelligence, and a thirst for adventure. I see a woman who was shackled with too much responsibility at an early age, and has become too accustomed to setting aside her own wants because of it. And here you stand, on the verge of fettering yourself permanently."

"You're wrong," Kestrel insisted, after a moment of shocked silence. "I'm getting exactly what I want."

"But are you getting what you need?" She let the question hang in the air for just a moment, "You are an explorer at heart, girl, you are not a conqueror. This marriage will test you. I'm asking you to think about whether you're really up to the challenge."

Before Kestrel could speak further on the subject, or even inquire as to whom her companion was, the woman was gone.

…

Typhon felt Kestrel's shoulders stiffen as they stood at the end of the aisle, waiting on their cue to make the long walk up to the altar.

"Not having second thoughts, are you?" he only half joked.

"No, of course I'm not. Who is that?"

He followed her gaze to the woman who stood at the other end of the aisle, waiting to officiate.

"That's Lamiya. You know Father asked her to marry us."

"That's Lamiya?" Kestrel echoed incredulously. "How is that possible?"

"I told you she wouldn't be what you expected."

Kestrel's only response was to stare at him. He'd never seen her look so unnerved. He tried to smile reassuringly, "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'm just surprised. I met her, briefly, yesterday, but she didn't formally introduce herself."

Typhon nodded, unsurprised, "What'd she say?"

"It doesn't matter."

He knew Kestrel well enough to not buy into that line, "She was probably just trying to have a little fun at your expense. I wouldn't worry too much about anything she said."

He looked back at Lamiya, who gave him a nod.

"Ready?"

"Yes," Kestrel said, and they set off down the aisle.

"We have come together here in celebration of the joining together of Typhon and Kestrel. Marriage is a bond to be entered into only after considerable thought and reflection," Lamiya began once they reached the altar, her gaze settling a little overly long on Kestrel as she spoke. Kestrel stared right back at her, the defiant look in her eyes unmistakable, and he gave her hand a squeeze even as he shot Lamiya a warning glare of his own.

Pretending not to notice, Lamiya continued, "As with any aspect of life, it has its cycles; its ups and downs, trials and triumphs. With full understanding of this, Typhon and Kestrel have come here today to be joined as one in marriage. Kestrel, whose blessing accompanies you?"

Jacamar stood from his place in the front row, "She is accompanied by all her family's blessing."

Lamiya nodded, "Then listen to what I am about to say. Let intellect guide you in your marriage, let the strength of your wills bind you together, let the power of love make you happy, and the strength of your dedication make you inseparable. Be close, but not too close. Have patience with one another, for storms will come, but they will pass. Typhon, I have not the right to bind you to Kestrel, only you have this right. If it is your wish, say so at this time and place your ring on her hand."

"It is my wish," he answered, placing a ring onto Kestrel's finger.

"Kestrel, I have not the right to bind you to Typhon, only you have this right. If it is your wish, say so at this time and place your ring on his hand."

"It is my wish," she said, sliding a ring onto his finger in return.

He held out his hand, and Lamiya gave him a large, blue crystal. Kestrel took his hand, intertwining her fingers with his. The crystal dug almost painfully into his palm, as he knew it must with hers, but neither of them showed any sign of discomfort as they smiled into each other's eyes.

"Repeat after me: I, Typhon, by the life that courses within my blood and the love that resides within my heart, take thee Kestrel to be my chosen one. I promise to love thee wholly and completely without restraint, in sickness and in health, in plenty and in poverty, in life and beyond, where we shall meet again."

As he made his vows, he could see the crystal's energy begin to twine around them, slowly at first, but gaining momentum with each passing word.

"Repeat after me: I, Kestrel, by the life that courses within my blood and the love that resides within my heart, take thee Typhon to be my chosen one. I promise to love thee wholly and completely without restraint, in sickness and in health, in plenty and in poverty, in life and beyond, where we shall meet again."

As Kestrel spoke, the crystal's energy shifted inward, seeping into their very beings, until finally, at the last word, they both glowed with its light, briefly visible for everyone to see.

It bound them together. Not like THE Binding. No, he would never subject them to that. Not if he could help it. But it was a binding. He could feel her. It was not an intrusive bond. He couldn't read her mind, couldn't feel exactly what she felt. But there was closeness: a sense that they were tied together, now; that they were a part of something more than they were just moments ago. It was comforting.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife."


End file.
